


Lost (In The Woods)

by germanjj



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, First Kiss, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-08
Updated: 2012-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-30 19:52:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/germanjj/pseuds/germanjj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean lives his life with Lisa and Ben, not knowing that Sam is out there. And Sam tries to keep it that way, watches over his brother but never gets too close. Until Sam takes the chance to get his brother back. Even if it's just for one day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost (In The Woods)

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is set in the missing year between season five and six, and it was also written during that year. so it's been joss'd since then but... maybe not that much ;)

_~*~*~*~_

_once on a high and windy hill_  
in the morning mist  
two lovers kissed  
and the world stood still 

_~*~*~*~_

The constant noise, this screech, it's grating on his nerves. Sam isn't in the room with them, with Christian and Gwen and Mark, he almost never is. He stays to himself although he calls them family, the cousins and his grandpa. But the sounds of them have no trouble bleeding through the paper thin walls and it's stabbing into his ears, making him feel like they're starting to bleed from it any minute now.

It's better, most of the times, better than today, but that doesn't help him now and Sam grabs the keys for his car. He needs to get out.

The scene he opens the door to is just like always. Christian's sitting in his chair, sharpening the knives - the zing zing is even louder in here, even more painful. Gwen is looking through reports, maps, whatever she can find nowadays to track down the bad guys. And Mark is silently sitting in his corner, polishing the guns.

Even Samuel is there, leaning against the doorframe and studying god knows what.

Sometimes, Sam is filled with this proud feeling of "look what a great bunch of hunters my family is". But most of the times there's just plain nothing.

Christian looks up when Sam enters the room and Sam can see this knowing smile spreading on his cousin's face he's come to hate so much. "Hey, Sammy? You gonna go stalking your brother again?"

"Don't call me that," Sam simply answers, the urge to just take his car and drive far away only getting stronger with every step towards the door.

"Leave him, Christian," Samuel says without looking up and it silences the other guy. It always does. Everyone does what Samuel says. Except for Sam. But he has never been good at following orders to begin with.

"How's it going with the venom?" the dark voice of grandpa Campbell fills the room, drawing the attention off of Sam and Sam is grateful for that, closes the door behind him when inside three voices start to discuss their new discovery. Mark never talks.

It's already dark outside and the few guys protecting the property look like dark shapes huddled in corners with their rifles in hand. Sam makes it to his car and drives off without talking to any of them. They're hunters, of course, but with the Campbells there's some sort of ... rank system, and those guys are definitely not on top. 

They open the gate for him and let him drive. And only when Sam is around a few corners and sees the lights of the small town before him, he feels like he's entering the real world again.

He's been hunting constantly since he came back. Even working on two cases in one day sometimes when it's easy and he's fast enough. And he's getting faster with every passing day, with every single hunt out there. 

Now all of this is falling away, taking a step into the background and Sam's reminded that the apocalypse didn't really happen. That the world out there is still peacefully unaware and whole in a way it can be. 

There's something vaguely like relief flooding through him when he thinks of Dean, being among these normal people.

 

~*~*~*~

 

The neighbourhood is familiar to him now. He knows the two old ladies living just around the corner from Lisa's house are sisters, knows that across Lisa and Dean, a young family with two little brats just moved in; he even knows that the guy from number three is visiting the married woman from eleven far too often to be "just friends".

What he doesn't know is if Dean notices all this. If Dean's paying attention enough to his surroundings to be prepared, alert, if ... when something happens. Sam keeps checking up on him as much as he dares and he wants for Dean to have this normal life with picket fences and kids and barbeques on Sunday. What he doesn't want is for Dean to lose his instincts and be in danger.

It's enough to justify to himself why he's here, now, hiding behind the tree that is a blind spot for the neighbours and has a perfect view into the kitchen of Lisa's house. Lisa's and Dean's house. 

It doesn't let Sam feel happiness or jealousy like it probably should. It doesn't stir something inside him like he thought it would, watching the man in there, his brother, having a family with other than him.

But it's a small price because every now and then, just like today, he can see Dean laughing through the window. Can see how his face lights up as he talks to Ben about something, can see how they start chasing each other around the house, Lisa watching, shaking her head but with a smile on her face.

Sam knows that Dean loves the idea of family more than anything else in the world. This is what he has now and Sam tells himself, every single day, that he won't take that away from him. 

Sam sneaks out of his hiding place and makes his way to the car. He sees Dean's new used pick-up on the driveway, can't imagine Dean behind the wheel of the rusty blue thing, but then again he knows Dean hasn't been driving the Impala since he knocked on Lisa's door.

It's the only thing that makes him doubt sometimes that he's doing the right thing. 

 

~*~*~*~

 

The cousins and Samuel are sleeping when Sam leaves the house in the morning. They're used to him by now, used to Sam sneaking out of the house in the early hours of the day. Enough that they don't wake up because of him anymore.

The nameless hunters only nod, open the gate and let him drive off, a routine that would have driven Sam crazy a long time ago if it was him in their places. But he doesn't care about them, not really if he's honest with himself and there's no point in hiding it anyway. He doesn't care about a scary lot of things these days and usually, that thought doesn't stir something inside him anymore.

But today is different. Sam is different today and he already feels the adrenaline spike through his veins. It's the small bottle he kept hiding for weeks now in his left jeans pocket that's burning a hole through the fabric right into his skin that suddenly makes him feel alive.

It's the sight of Dean's blue car standing in the driveway of Lisa's house, the sight of Lisa and Ben through their living room window and the empty garage with wide open doors that makes his heart rate speed up, makes him feel stupid and reckless and excited.

Dean has left with the Impala. And Sam is pretty sure where he will find him.

 

~*~*~*~

 

He finds Dean there. 

Sam doesn't remember the cemetery from the showdown with Lucifer and Michael, hasn't been himself long enough to actually take a look at his surroundings, but he remembers it from after. From coming back and looking for clues, for answers, after hell had just spit him right back out.

He never found anything here. And Dean, leaning against the Impala and looking into the distance, looks as lost as Sam feels every time he sets foot on this place.

Sam watches Dean from afar, the way he's leaning against the Impala, hands buried in his pockets, his head turned away.

Something aches inside Sam, something longing to just reach out, make that step and walk up to his brother, pull him into his arms just for one second. To make sure that he's here, that they are both here, that they made it.

Lucifer is back in hell, the Apocalypse stopped and Sam and Dean alive.

If it just was that easy. 

Wind picks up around Sam, blows his hair in his face but he still can see his brother, can feel the distance between them, long and cold and feeling like there's no way Sam will ever be able to cross it.

He watches until Dean moves, walks away from the car and over to a spot that looks like nothing but a patch of grass but Sam recognizes it as what it is. The spot where the ground had swallowed him, had sucked him into hell.

Something tightens in Sam's chest, surprising and painful. It's the first time Sam really understands that for Dean, for his bigger brother who had spent his lifetime to protect him, Sam was dead. Sam feels a weird surge of love he hasn't felt in a long time watching his brother kneel down at the spot that could as well be his grave.

He doesn't linger though, doesn't waste any more time. He rushes over to the car keeping an eye on Dean who's far enough away and it doesn't take long until he finds what he was looking for.

He's back hiding in his previous spot when Dean comes back, his face a cold, blank mask. 

Sam waits, patiently, and eventually Dean reaches into the backseat and produces a bottle of beer. He doesn't look at it, doesn't see the tiny hole in the cap when he opens it and Sam keeps on waiting until Dean has downed half of it with long, desperate gulps.

He steps forward, feels the hint of excitement rushing through him and it's enough for now. It's enough when lately, he hasn't been feeling anything at all.

It only takes a few steps until he's in Dean's line of sight, until his shadow is falling on his brother and until Dean looks up.

He waits, for another heartbeat, he waits, and then he smiles, looks his brother in the eyes, something he had already given up on ever being able to do again.

"Who are you drinking to?"

 

~*~*~*~

 

"Hey, Dean."

There's a long silence between them, stretching as Dean just looks at Sam with wide, disbelieving eyes. Then his brother looks down at the bottle in his hand and rolls his eyes.

"What the hell was in that beer?" he mumbles to himself, joking, and Sam understands it as what it is, even when he freezes for a second, sees Dean's guard built up like a brick wall.

"It's really me, Dean," Sam says and smiles; keeping his voice low.

Dean huffs, pushes away from the Impala. "Yeah, sure."

"Dean." Sam tilts his head, looks at his brother.

"Prove it." Dean is quick, tosses him a jack-knife he pulls out of his jacket and when Sam looks down at it in his hands, he sees that it's Dean's favorite silver knife.

The fact that Dean throws a knife at someone he doesn't trust to be who he claims to be, tells Sam that his brother is armed better than he expected. The thought calms him a little.

Sam winces as he unfolds the knife, pulls his sleeve up and cuts a thin line into his skin. But he does it without hesitation and the only pain he feels is that uneasy feeling of something cutting into his skin. No smoke, no sizzling, no demonic, unfathomable pain.

"Happy?" he turns his eyes up and just as he sees Dean, something wet and cold splashes into his face. Holy water.

He wipes the water from his face and looks at his brother, raising an eyebrow.

Dean's face changes. 

"Sammy?" his brother's voice breaks at the last syllable and a heartbeat later, Sam is engulfed into a short but tight hug.

Sam feels nothing. 

It doesn't surprise him, not much, but deep down inside him, he had hoped with Dean it would be different.

It's not. 

Dean pulls back and the emptyness in Sam only spreads wider, grows colder.

"So when did you...?" Dean's eyes look shocked and relieved and worried and happy, all that same time, and for a short moment Sam envies his brother for the myriads of emotions he feels and shows on his face. "I mean, how did you even...?"

"Get out?" Sam finishes for him. He shrugs his shoulders. "I don't know. I've been looking for answers everywhere. I have no clue how I got out or why."

"Was it God?" Dean asks him. "Or Cas? Did you ask Cas? Does he know how you came back?"

Sam just shakes his head. "Castiel doesn't answer my prayers. I don't know where he is. Haven't seen him since I'm back. And Bobby couldn't find anything."

"Bobby knows?" 

Sam nods jerkily. "I went to him right after I woke up in that field. But he didn't ... he couldn't find anything either." He turns around, turns away from his brother.

When he turns back, Dean is staring at him with a stern face.

"How long?"

Sam doesn't answer, doesn't need to ask to know what Dean means.

"How long since you're back, Sammy?" his brother asks and there's a desperate note mixing into his voice.

"A few months. Pretty much the whole time." Sam raises his eyes to his brother and expects anger.

All he can see is betrayal.

"Look, Dean," he starts before Dean can," you deserved what you have. A regular life, a home, a family. I just ... I thought it'd be better if I let you think that ..."

"That you're dead.? That you're rotting in a cage in hell for centuries? You thought that would be better for me?" Dean's broken voice scrapes something inside Sam and he almost feels guilty.

"Dean if I had shown up ..." Sam trails off. He doesn't know how to explain, doesn't understand how Dean can't see that what he did was right. "You always wanted a family, Dean. And that's what you got."

"I wanted my brother!" Dean shouts, startles them both. "Alive!"

Sam turns his eyes down, clenches his jaw. There is really nothing he can say to that.

"So why are you here? Why now? Why today?" Dean asks, his eyes burning holes into Sam's skin. 

A small smile is crossing over Sam's face, even if he doesn't really feel it. "Same reason you're here."

Dean looks at him quietly and nods. "Yeah." He wipes his hand over his mouth, looks away. Sam follows his brother's eyes to the spot on the ground that looks like nothing but a patch of grass to everyone but them. Then Dean catches Sam's eyes again.

"Well, happy birthday, Sammy."

Sam ducks his head, hides his face, and maybe this way Dean won't see how empty his smile is. "Thanks, Dean."

"So," Dean starts, and trails off again, as if he's not sure what to say. "So what you've been doing lately? Except for avoiding me."

"Can we please not do this today?" Sam asks. "I can ... I'll tell you later, alright?" 

Sam feels like he's hearing an invisible clock tick; feels like he can watch the minutes pass by with every leaf moving from the wind. He doesn't have much time. Not enough anyway.

Dean watches him, studies him as if he was able to see inside Sam's head if he just stared long enough. Whatever he finds there, it must be enough to nod and give in.

"Allright, Sammy." Dean spreads his arms wide, invitingly. "It's your big day. What do you wanna today?"

Sam smiles, for real this time, and it feels unfamiliar and strange on his lips. His eyes travel over the trees, the grass, from his brother to the car.

"Lets just ... just drive around for awhile?"

If he sees Dean's gaze falter for a second, Sam chooses to ignore that.

 

~*~*~*~

 

He wakes up to the sound of cars driving by, to the thrumming of the asphalt beneath him and for a moment - a perfect, precious moment - everything's back to normal again. Before all the demons and the angels, before Lilith and Lucifer and the apocalypse.

The moment is over way too soon.

Sam blinks himself awake, shifts in the seat so he sits up again. 

Sam frowns.

Waking up next to his brother driving is something that was always connected with home inside him. They've spent years of their lives like this and every time Sam woke up from a dream or a nightmare, it was always to the sound of the gravel hitting the tires, to Dean softly humming to a song in his head and to the sight of the road vanishing under the car before him.

Sam doesn't really feel it, not this time, and the memory alone is actually enough to let him feel something, even if it's just pain.

"Why did you let me sleep?" Sam asks, doesn't quite manage to keep the panic out of his voice as he sees the time. Four hours have passed.

Dean throws him a look, clearly having picked up on the tremble in Sam's voice, but he doesn't say something about that. Instead, his eyes shift back to the road. "You looked like you needed it," his brother just answers.

Sam knows it's probably true. He doesn't have problems sleeping, doesn't have nightmares or turns around much at night. He has problems sleeping at all. He is always too awake, too alert.

Only today, he barely remembers getting into the car before he fell asleep.

"I tried, you know?" Dean whispers, not looking at him. "I looked everywhere. Read everything I got my hands on to find a way to bust you out." He leaves the rest of his words hanging, but Sam can hear it anyway. He can sense the "I suffered every day for months when you were walking the earth not even a week after you jumped into the hole" underneath his brother's posture. Sam might not be able to feel much these days, but he can still read his brother like an open book.

"You promised you would leave it alone," Sam says, without any feeling in his words.

Dean shoots him a sharp look. "Of course I didn't leave it alone!"

Sam stays silent. He knew. Of course he knew. His brother wouldn't be his brother if he didn't try anything to get Sam out of trouble. Dean doesn't change. Not really. Not like Sam has over the last years. 

Sam turns his head away from his brother, follows the world flying by the window. 

It's not the same as Sam hoped it would be. It doesn't make him right again, doesn't flip the switch and turn Not-Sam into Sam again. 

But for the first time, Sam can hear his brother breathe in the seat next to him and he can pretend.

"Hey, Sammy?" Dean breaks the silence, minutes, hours maybe, later.

"Yeah?" Sam turns around, sees the familar grin flashing over his brother's face.

Dean nods his head to a diner in front of them. "You hungry? My treat today."

 

~*~*~*~

 

The "Susan's Inn" isn't different from every other diner they've been in and that's what Sam immediately likes about the place.

It's actually really busy, all but three tables taken by families and small groups of friends or collegues, and their chatter fills the air, almost painful in their innocence.

By silent agreement, the brother's choose the table far in the back and Sam watches Dean scan the menu hungrily like it was just another stop between just another hunt.

Their waitress is a nice older lady looking like she is just about to pinch their cheeks as she takes their orders and Sam watches the blush creeping up on Dean's face hungrily. 

The last few hours, he's been watching his brother all the time. 

He didn't really know before how open his brother's face is, how his whole soul is displayed there for everyone to see. Sam thought it was beautiful. His brother was beautiful and alive and emotional where Sam was just ... empty.

As their waitress puts their food on the table, smiling a secret smile, Sam notices that he's not the only one staring.

"I thought I'm not gonna see you again, this time," Dean confesses and he doesn't avert his eyes, holds Sam's gaze as Sam catches his brother looking. "I thought, this is it, you know?"

Dean's voice is like broken glass and he hurts, his brother hurts, but all Sam can do is sit at the table and eat is food. He doesn't think about what's going to happen tomorrow.

He's too afraid that he won't even feel guilty.

"What's wrong with you?" Dean suddenly asks between bites; his voice a serious counterpart to all the laughter and chatter around them. 

"What? There's nothing wrong with me, Dean." Sam feels his fake smile tug at his face and turns his eyes away from Dean but that's stupid and deep down he's sure Dean can see right through. Can see the stale empty thing he is inside.

He spots the clock, simple black-and-white already turning yellow from the steam, hanging on the wall across their table and suddenly he remembers. 

That nothing really matters today.

"I feel ... lost." Sam eyes travel back to his brother's and he is met with a warm and worried gaze. "Like I'm in the middle of the woods and I chose the wrong way to walk, you know? Like ... I know it's the wrong way, but turning around now would definitely kill me.

"And nothing matters anymore. Nothing feels like ... like it's important."

"Sam, I ..." Dean stops himself, looking as if he's searching for the right words. "For weeks I thought you were dead and then you suddenly show up. I mean, I don't even know where you've been all this time and what you've been doing." Dean puts his hands on the table, open his palms. "Help me a little here, Sam. So maybe I can help you."

Sam huffs, a painful smile spreading his lips. "You can't help me. I thought you could, I thought it'd be different with you, but..."

Sam can see how much his words hurt his brother, how much they confuse Dean, but he doesn't do anything about it. It's all the same to him.

"I've been hunting, " he offers instead, as an explanation or an excuse, he doesn't know. "I've been ... I'm getting really good at it."

Dean leans back on his seat, his food almost forgotten on his plate. "You've been flying solo while you let me play desperate housewife?" Dean's voice has switched to ice cold.

It matches Sam's now.

"No, Dean," Sam answers, stretching his brother's name tiredly. "There's still evil to hunt and monsters to kill and ... and truth is it's what I'm good at, you know?"

He can see Dean looking for a reply but his brother stays silent. They both know that the other way around, Dean would have said the same thing.

 

~*~*~*~

 

"We're not doing this often enough, don't you think?" Dean says sheepishly, blushing in the semi-darkness of the bar they're in, but Sam can see it, can follow the reddening of his brother's cheeks with his eyes.

"Yeah, you're right," Sam replies and his throat is suddenly a bit dry.

More driving, more not talking about the army of elephants between them had lead them here, into this shady bar with it's shady light and shady music. But the beer is cold and the people are decent and doesn't really matter to Sam anyway.

Sam is on his third beer while Dean's on his fourth and they're pressed together on that bar now that it's getting fuller. 

"Hell was ... cold," Sam starts out of nowhere, leans closer to his brother so he can hear him over the noise of the people around them. "That's what I remember most. It was so very, very cold. And I still can't get rid of it. Not even here."

"Sam."

"You were right, you know?" He meets his brother's eyes, beautiful eyes filled to the brim with emotion. And all for Sam, all his to take. "That my hell would be so much worse than your's. I saw you suffer, after. You tried to hide it but I could see it either way. Back then, I thought it was terrible that you could still feel everything, that you remembered."

Sam takes another gulp, let's his eyes travel distantly over the crowd. Looking for threats, for danger, just like he's been trained to do. 

His brother's eyes burn into his skin and it's his brother's hand that reaches for his cheek and turns his head back around.

"And what, Sam?" Dean pushes.

"Now I'm not so sure."

Sam meets the eyes of that sweet blonde chick across the room, catches her shy smile. His body still recognizes an invitation, still has it's needs, but his heart is out of it. He knows deep down, he doesn't care if he fucks this girl tonight or if she gets hit by a car.

"I think," Sam goes on, catches his brother's gaze," it's maybe better than feeling nothing at all."

Sam watches his brother clench his teeth, watches him shift his body away from him, and it doesn't hurt, doesn't sting. It just proves that Dean finally seems to sense how very wrong Sam is.

"So you're saying," Dean whispers and looks up to Sam, "that when you look at me you feel nothing? At all?"

There's a guy balancing a couple of glasses away from the bar and he shoots them a shocked glance, hurries to get away. 

Dean doesn't even seem to notice him and how he calls them "faggots" under his breath. His brother's eyes are glued to Sam's face, waiting for an answer.

"I know things. And I remember things. Sense memory and all that. Things that got burned into my skin just by feeling it over and over and over again. But that's not the same thing, is it?"

Dean stares at him, long and hard. Then he puts his bottle back on the bar with a loud clong and turns away. "Lets leave this place, Sammy," he says and it sounds a lot like an order.

Sam has no problem following it.

 

~*~*~*~

 

"Oh, jackpott," Dean exclaims and stops the car. When Sam turns towards him, he's looking like a little kid in a candy store, his eyes shining bright and an excited smile on his face.

Sam looks around, trying to find out what got Dean so happy.

They are on a hill, not high by any means, but the town is still lying at their feet, the lights in the distance, the hint of the sun coming up on the horizon, and the peaceful darkness around them creating a spectacular view.

Sam has to admit that it is actually pretty cool.

They both grab another bottle of beer, more for the element of nostalgia than the alcohol, and lean against the car, side by side, their shoulders brushing every now and then.

They're silent for a long time and it's a good, content silence and feels like taking a deep breath after all the talking during the day.

Dean sighs next to him, like he doesn't want to be the one breaking this peaceful moment but has to.

"Sam?"

Sam turns to his brother, studies the lines of his face in the beginning sunset. "Yeah?"

"You gonna tell me what's wrong eventually or do I have to guess?" Dean's eyes flicker towards him.

"What do you mean?" Sam knows that playing innocent won't get him far, Dean has known practically the whole day that something is wrong, but he does it anyway, it's in his blood, a kneejerk reaction to his brother's question.

"Come on," Dean groans but he looks calm, like he had been bracing himself for this conversation all day and was finally ready to hear the catch. "You haven't been that open to me about anything in almost a decade. And now you're suddenly telling me how you feel? Or ... not feel? What you've been through? I'm sorry, but you being all honest about stuff strikes me as odd.

"Sam," Dean warns lowly when Sam doesn't say anything at all. "Come on, something is wrong here, really, really wrong and I've been playing your game because ... because you just showed up when I was visiting your grave and I've missed you like crazy and I've honestly never seen you like this and it fucking terrifies me, alright?" Dean's voice shakes at the end.

Sam blinks against the fading darkness. "You're not gonna remember this anyway," he finally says, just loud enough that Dean can hear him.

"What?"

"This morning, the beer you drank right before I showed up? There was something ... in it," Sam explains without meeting his brother's eyes. "In a few hours you won't even remember meeting me. All you'll know is that you went to the cemetery and started drinking."

Sam's not actually sure that it will happen that way. But they tested the venom a few times now so he's at least pretty sure that Dean will just think he spend the day drinking until he fell asleep, mourning his dead brother.

"You poisoned me?!" Dean asks, furious; a beat too late, like it needed some time to really get through. Or like Dean couldn't believe that Sam would actually do something like that.

Sam looks up from under his bangs that had fallen into his face and he clenches his jaw and nods, taking in the crestfallen look on his brother's face.

"It's not dangerous. It's the venom of a ... look, Dean, we tested it, it has no side effects, I swear."

"What? We? Who's we, Sam? And why the hell..."

"I'm not gonna destroy what you have, Dean. I'm not."

They stare into each other's eyes, Sam trying to hold his ground, trying to make Dean see and Dean ... . Dean's face changes into a mask of pain.

"You'd do that to me?" He asks, his voice cracking. "You really would let me wake up tomorrow thinking you're still being tortured in hell?"

Sam knows he should be feeling guilt and pain, watching his brother being torn apart like that. But all there is is the thought of it. It never reaches through and Sam knows how bad that is.

"Beats the alternative," Sam shrugs, the thought of dragging Dean down with him unbearable for once. Even if there's a thought forming in his head. How it would maybe be better to have Dean with him. To have Dean being his anchor, his conscience, his soul.

Dean stares at him, so openly shocked, as if the man he's looking at is something far off his brother.

And Dean is probably right. Sam still doesn't know.

 

~*~*~*~

 

"So I will not remember any of this?" Dean asks, sounds like he's planning something, like he's asking the question for a reason. 

Time has passed, filled the air thick and sharp between them. Sam can feel the emotions roll off of his brother and he's soaking it all in, wanting to make up for the lack of his own feelings.

Sam nods to Dean's question and shoots a curious gaze to his brother.

Dean hesitates, his mouth set in a line Sam knows. His brother is still thinking about something, weighing his options. When Dean finally shifts into motion, he seems like he's made his choice.

Sam is more than just surprised when Dean walks up to him and wraps him into a tight hug. His brother has one arm around Sam's torso and the other around his neck, pulling him closer until they're pressed against each other all the way. 

Sam doesn't remember ever being hugged like that before. They don't do it that way. Not even when one of them is freshly back from the dead, even then it's a tight and short hug, an affirming intense motion of contact, to make sure the other one's real and there and alive.

But Dean doesn't let him go.

"What are you doing?" Sam asks shakily and he's surprised by how weak his own voice sounds. 

"Shut up, Sammy." Dean's voice is muffled against his shoulder, but the rumble of words vibrate in his body. "Trying to do the right thing here."

"By hugging me to death?" It's supposed to sound funny and mockery, but all it does is sounding helpless in his own ears.

"You know this Ben Affleck and Matt Damon movie? With the genius in that school and the professor hugging him and telling him how it's not his fault?"

"Dean," Sam whispers and suddenly there's a huge lump in his throat. He knows what his brother is talking about and it's not fair that he can do that to him. With some stupid movie quoting shit, turn him into a shaking mess, make him clutch at Dean in return and reduce him to the little brother he once had been, the one who only wanted to have a place in the world and be loved.

It's not fair that Dean can still do that to him. When in weeks and weeks Sam hadn't cried, hadn't hurt, hadn't felt. 

But it's everything Sam had been missing.

"Dean," Sam says again, his face buried in the crook of his brother's shoulder. Dean just keeps on holding him tight.

He doesn't know how long they're standing like this. On top of that hill with the wind taking up around them, like it's just them in the world, like they're above it and all that happens below doesn't matter all that much up here.

It feels disturbingly good, being held like this, being this close to the one person Sam can without a doubt say he loves. 

It hits Sam. How long it has been since he's been so close to someone. Not once after Jess did someone touch him like that and Jess was more than a lifetime ago. Sam doesn't want to linger on this thought, doesn't want Dean to see how his little brother gets turned into a girl by something as simple as a hug.

But it's what happens. 

He feels his brother in his arms, warm and alive and close, and a warmth spreads inside him, finally, goddamn finally, and it hurts as it blends out the cold.

Suddenly it's him who doesn't want to let go, just wants to stay like this a little while longer. 

But he can't. It's not what they do, it's not how they are with each other and even when Dean suddenly thinks he can get away with stuff just because he won't remember it in the morning, even then they have to untangle sometime. 

Sam feels the shift in Dean's body first, the tensing, just right before he's about to move back.

For a desperate second Sam thinks he's just not going to let go.

But Dean is already drawing back, moving his head away from him so their gazes can meet again without going cross-eyed. But other than that, other than their faces being only breaths apart, Dean's not making any moves to get away further. 

And then it's not even a choice, just natural instinct, gravitation, that makes Dean move forward again, that presses lips against lips, gently and carefully.

Sam sobs into the contact, can't do anything about it. It pierces right through his lips into his heart, bursts open walls of stone and ice and it hurts, hurts so goddamn much but Sam holds on, answers the press of his brother's lips in kind.

It's slow and tentative and helpless. Like neither Dean nor Sam had ever kissed someone before. They hold each other, hands to elbows, and Dean turns his head slightly, probes at Sam's mouth with his tongue, coaxes his brother's lips open. 

Their tongues meet in a tender touch, too light, too careful, as if they could break if they were going too fast.

Sam's throat burns with unshed tears as he keeps clinging to his brother, keeps inviting him in, inviting him closer than he was ever supposed to get. He feels Dean tremble in his hands, doesn't need to open his eyes and see to know that his brother is as far out of his depth as Sam is.

It doesn't feel wrong. Strange, yes, strange and weird and too much, like Sam was only just learning about how much his brother loved him, as if he hadn't known before. 

 

~*~*~*~

 

But the kiss doesn't stop and it keeps breaking Sam open, pouring the love into him he never knew he was missing until now.

Dean sucks gently on Sam's lower lip, touches his tongue softly to Sam's and it's about home and love and friendship; closeness and need and vulnerability and not at all about sex.

It's not about sex until something shifts, twists, slips into place between them and suddenly it is.

Sam groans desperately in his throat as Dean's hands shift, slip under his shirt and touch bare skin; he hisses as Dean presses closer, sucks Sam's lower lip into his mouth and bites down before he smoothes it over with a gentle flick of his tongue.

Suddenly the gentleness is not enough, suddenly Dean is not close enough and Sam is grabbing for him, pulling him in. 

Sam is feeling ... everything. And it's so good and new and perfect and Dean. It's all Dean and Sam drinks it in like he's starving for it.

"Sammy," Dean whispers between them, angles their heads just right before he dives in again, claims his brother's mouth as his.

They stumble backwards, or forwards, Sam doesn't know, doesn't care until they hit the car, Dean groaning as he's pressed against it, Sam trapping him there.

"Oh, god," Dean gasps and stops them for a moment, holds Sam's face in his hands and Sam sees in his brother's eyes what he can feel himself: the hunger and the love and the overwhelming bond that's been there all this time, tugging at them when they were drifting apart, tying them together when they were already too close.

Sam knows he can't make any choices right now, can't feel scared of the consequences, but he wants, he desperately wants; everything and all of Dean he can get. He wants to drink him all in, wants to crawl inside him and never leave, never wants to stop feeling what he does now.

But he waits, although he is trembling and panting and the sweet scent of his brother's skin is pulling him in, daring him to touch, to taste.

"Sam," Dean says again, "Sammy." And he's clutching at Sam's face, his eyes locking with Sam's as if he's looking for something. 

"Sammy," he breathes again and now he looks like he has found his brother again. 

Sam gets it now. How he becomes alive under Dean' touch, how emotions are flooding through him as if all the dams are broken. Dean is a part of him as much as Sam is a part of his brother. And whatever is missing inside Sam, Dean is filling it right up.

The click of the door of the Impala pulls Sam back to reality for a second and he pulls in a ragged breath as Dean opens it, crawls onto the backseat, his eyes an unsure, but hot invitation.

Sam follows right after. 

They don't really fit, of course they don't. But Dean doesn't care, neither does Sam when they find each other in the cramped heat, lips against lips, bare chests rubbing each other feverishly, hoodies and shirts lying forgotten in the front.

They don't talk, nothing more except gasped and moaned "Sammy"'s and "Dean"'s. They don't stop long enough to question what they're doing, don't take a moment to think, just grind their bodies together and bury themselves in the wet, soft heat of their brother. 

Sam's moans become louder and more desperate when Dean grabs him by his hair, harsh breaths tickling his ear as his brother licks and bites his neck, picking up a steady rhythm with their groins rubbing together.

"Dean," he groans and he can't believe he's able to have this, that he's being loved and wanted like this. "Dean," he moans again, only muffled by the sweat-slick skin of his brother's neck that tastes so, so good.

"Shhh, Sammy," Dean rasps, pulling Sam even closer, their rhythm faltering as they both get close. "I got ya."

It doesn't take long after that, doesn't need more than another push, another pull, another swipe of tongue against already swollen lips and they're both breaking, Dean groaning his release while Sam goes still, bites down on his brother's neck as his orgasm is pulled out of him.

"Sammy," Dean whispers and cradles Sam's hair, turns his face to meet Dean's eyes gently.

And maybe because Dean knows that he won't remember any of this the next day, his eyes lock with his brother's and he says: "I love you so fucking much," before his brushes their lips to a kiss one last time.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Sam wakes up to the distinct smell of them, of sweat and warmth and cum, of Dean and him, and his first instinct is to bury himself deeper in it, pull his brother a little closer to him although they're plastered together, Dean's weight pleasant and comfortable next to him. 

But his eyes travel to his watch eventually and he only has three hours until the venom fades and that's enough to get Dean back to the cemetery, let him wake up to some empty beer bottles and hopefully a memory without Sam in it, or just of a the dead one he's been mourning all the time.

But it's not enough to linger here, to pretend just a little longer that he can have this, can have his brother like this. 

It's crazy, when it suddenly hits him. Who they are and what they've done. He thinks of Dean as kid, the first memories he has of him, of his annoying brother who had always been cooler than him, wherever they went and how Sam hadn't been able to decide if he hated him for that or was proud to have a cool brother like him. He remembers Dean being a teenager and teasing the shit out of him, mocking him all the time, never stopping. He remembers training fights getting too rough between them, remembers shouting matches and stone cold silence that lasted for days. He remembers Dean reading him to sleep, cooking him meals that were barely eadible but everything Sam knew, remembers his big brother patching him up, helping with his homework and clapping on his back, proudly, when Sam had just done or said something good.

He looks down at his brother now, the peaceful, sleeping face he knows better than he knows himself and Sam thinks that nothing, no word, no memory, nothing, can really capture who Dean is to him and that nothing that happens to himself can take away what he feels for his brother.

He doesn't feel wrong or ashamed of what they did and the thought spreads inside him like a feather soft touch. He doesn't regret it. He still won't back down on his promise to himself, won't take normal from Dean if it stays his choice. But he will savor this memory, will savor the last twenty-four hours like a precious gift, a small glance into what they could be to each other, what maybe they were supposed to be before fate came and got it all wrong.

Sam untangles himself from Dean, slowly and carefully and feeling colder and colder with every move he makes away from him. But Dean is sound asleep, will hopefully sleep until Sam is back in Kansas and can drop him off there.

He rearranges Dean on the backseat, tugs Dean's shirt over the sleeping body and then his hands search Dean's pants for what he knows is there, for what he knew all along he has to find and take with him before he can leave again. 

Afterall, he knows his brother.

He finds it in one of Dean's backpockets. It's a small piece of paper, ripped out from some newpaper and Dean's handwriting is scrambled and hurried. Sam wonders when he did this, wonders when Dean had the time to write that down. Maybe while Sam was asleep? Or even before in the bar or the diner? Sam knows he's never gonna know the answer to that question and the thought actually stirs something inside him, makes his stomach turn and his chest tighten. 

But he puts that piece away, reading only very few words "Sam's alive. Ask Bobby.", and Sam can't help feeling the twinge in his guts that Dean is not reminding himself of what they did. But he tells himself that maybe Dean's written the note earlier the day and that has to be enough and he gets out of the backseat and in the front, starts the car and heads back to the cemetery. 

Dean sleeps all the way through.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Sam does know his brother. But sometimes, he forgets that his brother knows him too. This is why Sam would look for the note in Dean's jeans and this is why that note isn't the only one Dean wrote. 

The other one, the longer one, is safely tugged away in the trashcan of the Impala. 

Dean doesn't smoke, and god help him if he lets anyone into his baby with a damn cigarette so it's not a place where he's gonna look too soon. He doesn't even drive his girl these days. But one day, one day he will take her out for a ride and then maybe he will get the urge to clean her, head to toe, and then he will find the note. 

And until then, it will stay there, keeping their secret just like keeping Sam's. 

 

The End.


End file.
